


A Hairy-Handed Gent Who Ran Amok in Kent

by Lunarium



Category: Werewolves of London - Warren Zevon (Song)
Genre: M/M, Werewolves, canon minor character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 17:43:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14774219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunarium/pseuds/Lunarium
Summary: An artist grows obsessed with a wolfish man in the city.





	A Hairy-Handed Gent Who Ran Amok in Kent

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FleetSparrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FleetSparrow/gifts).



He had never seen a man like this before. If he could describe him in words, and his preference for expression lay more with the visual arts, he would say the man had a distinctly wolfish face, features so striking that it stole his attention from across the bustling London street: Wide bridge nose that narrowed down to a pointy tip, almond-shaped eyes that seemed to glean amber when turned a certain degree to the sunlight, sideburns which framed around his handsome diamond-shaped face as that of a grey wolf. Grey and white streaks hid among the waves of otherwise dark hair. 

Another peculiarity, which Jim noted upon careful inspection, were the visible hair that grew beyond the cuffs of his suit sleeves. A hirsute man. Jim couldn’t say if he found that sort of man attractive. He had never given it much thought before, but it just fit with this man. And he found it quite favorable. 

Jim had seen the man off and on, standing at some street corner here and there around London. He had snapped a few photos of him. Sketched him whenever the man was waiting for the bus and Jim had just enough time to sit down and contemplate and capture his look with his own two eyes. 

The man’s suit were always sharp, but seldom did any survive past a month. Jim noted this. Perhaps they did not survive due to being torn by claws. The man’s own claws, to be precise. 

A silly thought, Jim told himself. 

But then there was an old lady who was mutilated in her home one night. A complete bloody mess, based on the official news description. His stomach turned at the words, but it only served to further flame his interest in the strange wolfish man. The next time Jim saw him, he was taken aback how much more alive the man appeared. He walked with a beat to his step. 

And the suit was brand new. 

Then came reports of wolves howling in Mayfair, Knightsbridge, Soho, Paddington…

Intriguingly, they only came around the full moon. Suddenly Jim’s little theory didn’t begin to sound so implausible. 

The police believed these were the works of some bored teens. Summer had come early that year, and teens were more likely to be out drinking and wrecking havoc everywhere they went. With that new _Frankenstein in Frankfurt_ , some B movie that was gathering a cult following among the younger crowd, it would have seemed fair to assume these kids next binged on all the horror films before someone got the brilliant idea to wolf howl throughout the city at night. 

That were the police’s thought, but there were holes in their theory. Mainly, that the reports would only come from one city, not spread out throughout London as one would believe. Each town didn’t get their own special werewolf pack. It was several reports about allegedly the same one wolf in one location. 

And after every full moon, there that man was again, looking more alive than ever. A spring was in his every step, and his eyes, if possible, glowed brighter. The suit was always new. And the man himself would become more sociable than the last time Jim had seen him about. 

Jim absolutely had to share his findings with the rest of his friends. 

“No way,” Tom said. “You’ve been watching too many of them films yourself, Jim.” 

“I dunno,” Violet said with a mischievous smirk as she peered over his notes. “The clues all do align suspiciously. Wolfish face, hairy hands—you know what they used to say about hairy palms long ago, though, right?—incidents at the full moon, reports of howls, only on the full moon. Moods change by the month: as the moon waxes, he grows weaker and sickly, more withdrawn; after his carnivorous lunar activity, he’s lively and sociable. 

“And the man’s into raw meat. ‘Saw him devour a large steak, raw.’ ‘Had a large bowl of Beef Chow Mein; specifically asked the chef not to cook the meat too well.’ What’s his name, even? Wolfgang or something?” 

Jim chuckled and rested back on his seat. “Never got to ask him.” 

“Huh, why so? Cat’s got your tongue? Harboring a little crush there?” 

Violet gave him a wink before turning the page. Sketch after sketch and photos filled the rest of his notebook. Tom and Violet studied them in silence. Every now and then they’d stop to shift his notebook at an angle to better read the notes he had left scattered around. But by the time they reached the last page, Tom was frowning and his eyebrows were furrowed. Violet’s smile even faded a little. 

“Really obsessed, this one,” Violet said in a tone as casual as she could muster to Tom. 

“You’re not thinking of keeping up with this, are you?” Tom said with a wave of his hand over the notebook. 

“Well, I…find this very interesting…” Jim said. It was suddenly very warm in the pub, and he tried to find some means out of it. “If he really is killing people, I could make a case against him.” 

Tom snorted. “Somehow I doubt your intentions are to hand him over to authorities.” 

“Oh?” Jim swallowed thickly and tried not to laugh. He put on a stoic face. “What gives you that idea?” 

“‘His hair was perfect,’” Violet recited from the notebook. “Come on, you’re practically masturbating over this guy with every sketch. You’re obsessed! It’s kinda sweet, actually. A werewolf for a muse. Do you plan to go running off into the woods with him?” 

“You’re not thinking of making contact with him!” Tom shot him a dark look. 

“ _What?_ I, no, I—”

“You best stay away from him, Jim!” Tom warned. “He’ll rip your lungs out!” 

“I’d like to meet his tailor,” Violet said with a dreamy sigh. “Our Wolfgang must make a fortune to keep getting a new suit each week. Think his tailor is in the know? Makes the suits in advance so our little furry guy just slips in the new clothes the next morning after a good shave and a bath to wash off the bloodshed. Or he keeps his mouth shut because he doesn’t want to be his next meal.” 

“Please, I don’t think Wolfg—that guy would intentionally ever hurt anyone,” Jim said. 

“Not even little old lady Glenda?” Violet said before picking up her drink and muttering to herself. “She must have been the witch that cursed him. Give me a few, and I can make a case for it.”

*

Jim was poring over his notes when it happened. He had picked out this night specifically with the precise hope of running into Wolfgang here. He had studied his pattern of movement closely and surmised he would be coming to this town tonight for the full moon.

“Hey, I have seen you before.” 

His heart gave a start. The words flowed through him like a pleasurable, soothing wave. He glanced up and was glad to see Wolfgang, or whatever his name was, smiling at him. In a couple more hours the moon would shine bright, and not only would Jim know his name for sure, but so much more. 

“Hey, the man at Soho, right?” Jim said, hoping his pounding heart wouldn’t give him away. “I had a party to go to, but I wasn’t feeling too well after an hour there. I decided to take a walk to clear my mind. And admire the moon.” He gave Wolfgang a smile he hoped would send a message. 

There was something in Wolfgang’s returning smile. “Want to take a walk with me?” 

“I’d love to,” Jim said. “I’d like to know more about you.” 

Wolfgang cocked his head slightly to one side. “Oh?” His face brightened under the silver of light. “The feeling is mutual, my friend.”

Jim would not be a victim tonight. That much was certain. Another howl will join his after tonight.


End file.
